Wounded Legacy: The Early Years of Dean and Sam Winchester
by Namarea
Summary: Before they were the greatest Hunters to ever bear the title. Before they were both the hated and beloved of Heaven. Before they were the hope of all mankind. Dean and Sam Winchester were just frightened and neglected little boys who had only each other to trust in and cling to when the darkness loosed Hell on Earth.
1. 01 - Prologue

**Prologue**

Darkness pressed close to the modest two-story house in the small Kansas town. A streetlamp pooled golden, ozone-smelling light down onto the figure of a man leaning against it. The flame of a lighter rising to the cigarette held loosely between his lips illuminated a nondescript, Caucasian face that no one would ever remember or be able to point out in a police lineup. But his eyes, as he took that first draw on the cancer stick before the lighter's flame was extinguished, his eyes would never be forgotten by anyone who saw them. His eyes flashed yellow when they gazed up to the second-story window of the house he had watched since sundown.

Yellow was such a warm color, the color of the sun, such a cheerful and happy color. But there was nothing in those yellow eyes that was warm, nothing that was cheerful and nothing, nothing that was happy. There was only soullessness, emptiness, the purest form of evil that had ever existed. What was in those eyes was what had made mankind stay close to the fire when people first learned to walk upright. What was in those eyes was what made us fear the dark. And now those eyes disappeared from the lamppost and reappeared to focus on a smiling baby boy in a crib in front of that upstairs nursery window.

"You're supposed to be asleep, little one," the gravelly voice said in a sing-song timbre. The baby cooed and kicked his tiny feet, the simple innocence of the gesture almost enough to melt the iciness that had frozen the soul of Yellow Eyes a millennium ago…almost. "Don't worry, kiddo," the voice whispered. "Daddy's come to take care of his boy…Sam." One little pinprick. One tiny drop of blood that dripped passed his little pink lips. That was all it took to change the baby's life, his destiny, forever. Sam was forever changed. He never had a chance. Yellow Eyes had won and it had been so damned easy. Or so he thought. Only one thing would ever be able to stand between Yellow Eyes and his plan for all mankind. And that one thing would offer itself up for the first time that very night in the form of a mother's love for her child.

* * *

Mary Campbell had been raised by her parents, Samuel and Deanna, to be a hunter and she'd been a damn fine one until she met and married John Winchester. Mary had told John everything, of course. It had been the most awkward conversation of her life but in the end, John accepted the truths he had never even dared to dream, had married the love of his life and she had given him two amazing sons. They were out of 'the lifestyle' as Mary had called it, and had been living the American dream for close to six years.

It was late when Mary woke up. Her heart was racing and the little hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end. Maybe she'd just had a nightmare or something, but Mary knew she had felt that feeling before. She rolled over, shivering from the feeling deep in her gut, but she swallowed it down and got out of bed to check on her children. John's side of the bed was empty and Mary smiled thinking that he'd probably fallen asleep in front of the TV again.

She walked softly down the hall in her bare feet and long, white, cotton, night gown. She peaked in on her eldest son, Dean, who was fast asleep with his little thumb securely between his lips. Mary just smiled and shook her head. They were going to have to do something about that thumb-sucking, and soon. Dean was four already, pushing five. Mary tiptoed over to the bed and knelt to kiss her first-born's forehead. "Mommy loves you, Dean," she whispered, tucking his covers up around him before easing out of the room to check on her youngest in the nursery.

Sam was cooing in his crib so Mary knew he was awake before she even got to his room. He'd be hungry and likely need a diaper change. Mother's intuition was probably what woke her Mary thought. When she got to the doorway, she could see John was already at Sam's crib, likely having heard the baby on his way to bed. "Oh, hey sweetheart," Mary said softly. "I'll go warm him a bottle if you'll get him changed. Then we can get a few more hours' sleep."

Mary headed down the stairs and turned for the kitchen to make Sam's bottle. When she passed the family room, though, she saw that John had left the TV on. She turned to shut it off and froze in her tracks, her heart seemed to stop and time slowed down to an infinitesimal breath. John was asleep on sofa. Mary turned and ran as fast as she could back upstairs to Sammy's room. Who was it standing by Sammy's crib? Who? And as she skidded to a stop in the center of the room the man turned his yellow eyes on her and she knew he was no man. Mary began to whisper a prayer under her breath, asking for protection for her baby, her family. It would be the last words Mary Winchester would ever speak.

* * *

Screams broke the silence of the night in the Winchester home. Dean, not quite five years old, woke to the sound of his father's heavy work boots pounding up the stairs and his father's voice yelling, "MARY, MARY!" Dean could not know that he would remember those sounds for as long as he lived. They would haunt his dreams for years to come, but not as much as the eerie silence that followed, a silence that wrapped the little Winchester up as much as the inky blackness of his room.

Dean crawled out of his big-boy bed, his crib now occupied by his little brother, Sammy, down the hall in Dean's old nursery. He padded on pudgy little feet out of his room and down the hall. He coughed and wrinkled his nose at the nasty smell that he couldn't know was something burning and dragged his blanky calling, "Daddy? Mommy?" His little fists were pressed and rubbing against his stinging eyes when suddenly his father ran out into the hall carrying little Sammy, who was crying now too.

"Dean, take the baby," his daddy said, handing Sammy over to his eldest son, pressing the baby into the frightened little boy's arms. Dean shook his head 'no' to his father and tried to back away. Mommy always said that Dean was too little to hold Sammy all by himself and Dean didn't want Mommy to be angry with him. "Take him Dean," his father ordered, his voice stern, causing Dean to act out of pure instinct. "Take Sammy and run, son," Daddy had said. "Get out of the house, NOW!"

It was the same dream that Dean had dreamed nearly every night since that crisp November night. He had clutched his baby brother to his little chest, dropping his blanky in the process, and ran as fast as his little legs would carry him down the stairs and out onto the lawn. Sammy was still crying as Dean rocked him to and fro, cooing to him and shushing him like he'd seen Mommy do when Sammy would fret. Dean had no idea where his mommy and daddy were and only just realized as he looked up at the fire now spreading through the upstairs nursery that tears were rolling down his own cheeks as well. It would be years before Dean would recall that he had seen a lady in white on the ceiling of Sammy's room, fire all around her. He would also recall that he had seen a man in the midst of that inferno just before the windows blew out, a dark man with glowing yellow eyes that couldn't possibly have been his father, because John was running toward them now, reaching out and covering them just in time as the windows blew out to rain shards of glass down on them all.

Dean couldn't know it at the time, but that night was the end of the happy family of which he and Sammy had been so integral a part. There would be no more kisses from mommy on boo-boos before they were bandaged, no more being tossed into the air only to be caught and hugged into the safety of daddy's strong arms, no more prayers before being tucked safely into bed with kisses each night. And Dean never again sucked his thumb. Mommy was gone, dead Dean had been told, and Daddy changed forever that night into a man Dean didn't recognize. Daddy was now a man so full of his own pain and loss that he couldn't recognize that, as the years drifted on, his children were suffering too.


	2. 02 - Chapter 1

**SUMMARY FOR CHAPTER ONE: Dean (10), Sammy (5); John tries to make men out of his boys even at their young age. Dean tries to protect Sammy and keep him from growing up too fast. Sammy aches for the one thing his father** **won't** **give him and his brother** **can't** **give him…love.**

"Go to bed boys," John Winchester slurred, his words coming out in a growl. He staggered in the door of the cheesy motel room, having come home late and drunk again tonight. These days, it either seemed that he was gone for days if not weeks on end, out hunting the monsters that Dean tried to keep from Sammy's nightmares; or, if he was home, he was whiskey-soaked in a fifth of something strong, trying to drown out the visions of his wife, Mary, dying horribly at the hands of the yellow-eyed demon.

John had little patience for disobedience, zero tolerance for it in fact, whether he was leading a hunt or barking orders at his sons inside whatever bug-infested hovel in which they were currently squatting. Disobedience, John always told his boys, in their line of work would get you killed. But if there was anything for which John had even less patience than disobedience, it was for his children. His eldest son, ten year old Dean, looked so much like Mary that John could barely stand to look at the child much less deal with him on a day to day basis. And his youngest son, five year old Sammy, had Mary's sweet, soft ways and always just wanted his daddy to cuddle him. John was never certain which son or situation was more difficult for him to stomach.

Dean looked to his father with something akin to a mixture of sadness and pity on his face, while Sammy was, yet again, fully defiant and hating when their father came home this way. In the end, "Yessir," was all that Dean said, as he hopped up off of the ratty old sofa upon which he had been curled together with Sammy to herd the younger boy down the hall to the single washroom in their ancient motel room. Dean switched off the old black and white TV they had been watching which had such terrible reception that Dean and Sammy so often just turned down the volume and made up stories to go along with what they could see on the snowy screen.

Dean was ten years old now and had been virtually responsible for raising his baby brother, Sammy, since the night their dad had placed the infant in his arms, telling him to run out of the house that was engulfed in flames. That was the night that little Dean's life changed forever. His mother had died and their family had never recovered from her loss. Not a night had gone by since that Dean didn't still hear her wails of pain in his dreams. Although he could barely remember her face anymore, those screams would haunt him forever. "G'night, Dad," the boys called softly behind them to their father, who just took another swig of whiskey and grunted before his head hit the chipped Formica table top and his snores began. Dean knew that his father would wake in the morning to a stiff neck and a pounding headache and though part of him wished to spare his father that pain, another part of Dean knew it was nothing more than John deserved.

Dean sighed, took his little brother's hand and smiled down at Sammy who sniffled and looked forlornly at their father. Not once could Sammy ever remember the man tucking them in or kissing them goodnight. Not once could he ever remember the man reminding them to brush their teeth before bed or wishing them pleasant dreams. Sammy so much wanted John to, just once, pick him up and carry him to bed, gently tuck him in and kiss him goodnight.

But instead it was always Dean, his big brother Dean, the constant in Sammy's ever-changing world, who always made sure that Sammy's teeth were brushed, that he was clean and fed and clothed appropriately for each season. It was always Dean who tucked him in every night, into a motel double bed that they had shared for as long as Sammy could remember. Dean was mother, father and brother to little Sammy, provider and protector to the tiny boy, and even at Sammy's very young age, he loved his big brother to distraction.

Sammy dutifully minded Dean every night, more so than he ever had or would his father, and brushed his teeth alongside the elder. It wasn't a race, per se, but the boys always found themselves grinning when they finished and spit into the old, chipped bathroom sink at the same time. Dean would always take a cloth and wet a corner to wipe Sammy's mouth. He knew that Sammy was old enough to do these things for himself, but if Dean was honest, he didn't want Sammy growing up on him for a few more years. So Dean kept Sammy close each day, and babied his little brother when their father wasn't around to see, for John would never have stood for it, had he known, and would probably have punished them both.

Dean saw to it every night that Sammy's unruly mop of soft brown hair was washed, dried and brushed into submission. He also made sure that that Sammy's tawny hazel eyes were never fearful of imaginary monsters beneath their bed. Then, after bathing, Dean laid out Sammy's threadbare, almost too small, pajamas that had once belonged to Dean but were now hand-me-downs from Dean as of a couple of years ago. They walked, hand in hand, from the bathroom each night and Dean would always hold up the covers on their bed before boosting Sammy up to crawl underneath. Dean would then hoist himself up onto the old sagging bed to curl up behind Sammy, one arm thrown protectively around the younger boy's waist, gathering him close, while the other arm was curled up under the single lumpy, feather pillow that they both shared.

It was their ritual every night. And as expected, Sammy would then reach a small hand down to grasp his brother's larger one around his waist to then pull it up and clutch it close over his steadily thumping heart. There were no monsters that could harm Sammy as long as Dean was there, nothing but warmth and peacefulness, safety and security, as long as he was wrapped up in Dean's embrace. Holding onto Dean's hand, as their father's snores roared through the other room, Sammy whispered, "G'night, Dee. I love you," just as he did each and every night before sleep claimed them both.

"Night, Sammy," Dean whispered back, never able to croak the words out that seemed to choke in his throat. "Um, me too." No one would ever know how badly Dean wanted to say the words back to his little brother. God knows he loved the little boy more than life itself, would die for him without even thinking. Sammy had always been Dean's touchstone, his solace, his lifeline in a world that a child should never, ever, have to experience. Dean had seen the ugliness and evil that resided in this world. His father had made sure that Dean had seen it. And Dean had sworn to himself to protect Sammy from it all for as long as he could, to give him the childhood that Dean would never have himself.

Dean knew how desperately that Sammy needed to hear those three small words in return. He knew that Sammy's entire being hung above a precipice of aching need every night. Dean could hear it in Sammy voice as it cracked when he spoke and turned up at the end making the statement more of a question. Dean could almost hear as if Sammy was asking, 'Can I love you, Dean? Will you let me love you, Dean? Could you love me back, just a little bit, Dean?' He could feel it in the tiny tremors that raced through Sammy's bony little body pressed so close to him. And then, the little sniffles that came after Dean's cowardly reply of, 'Me too,' were the sounds that gutted Dean every single night, the sounds that told Dean that he had failed Sammy once again.

Dean would lay awake long after Sammy had given up any hope of hearing his loving sentiment returned. He would lay awake until, inevitably, Sammy rolled over and faced him, eyes closed in sleep, tears drying on tender, baby cheeks. It was those tears that Dean would kiss away every night, their taste like ashes of regret on his tongue.

Their father had taught Dean so much in just ten short years, how to steal, how to hustle pool and gamble, how to shoot guns, throw knives, how to kill without regret to protect himself and Sammy. Their father had taught Dean how to take instruction without asking questions, how to follow orders and be a good little soldier, and how to keep himself and Sammy alive and fed when John was gone for long stretches of time. Dean had learned to boost cars, shoplift, commit credit card fraud and pretty much any other illegal thing of which one could imagine. But from others in his life, Dean learned useful, less criminal activities such as the basics of first aid and cooking from Bobby and how to read and write from Pastor Jim.

But no one had ever had to teach Dean how to love Sammy. Dean had never needed an instruction manual to know that Sammy was his whole world and that without his little brother, Dean truly had nothing and no one. If only someone could have taught Dean how to let go, how say the words that Sammy so desperately needed to hear. But at only ten years old, Dean already knew the power that those words had, the power that they gave someone over you.

Dean already knew that 'I love you' carried with it the ability for someone to break your heart, shatter your world, and leave you in so many pieces like a jigsaw puzzle that had been tossed into the air to land scattered and never put together again. And that was a power that the powerless ten year old, with grass-green eyes, wheat-yellow hair, and freckles that made him look even younger than he was, could not afford to give, even to the most precious person in his young life…his Sammy.


	3. 03 - Chapter 2

**SUMMARY FOR CHAPTER TWO: Dean (12), Sammy (7); The boys spend some time with Bobby Singer and Pastor Jim, long-time friends of their father, where they learn that there may just be more to life than death.**

The first time that Dean and Sam Winchester were introduced to Bobby Singer, the crotchety old hunter who had been a long-time friend of their father, John, Sammy hid behind his big brother, holding tightly to the hem of Dean's old, faded t-shirt. Sammy, although generally a bright, cheerful sort of child, did not trust easily and tended to be extremely wary of strangers, especially those of whom their father thought so highly.

Upon the making of introductions between the little Winchesters and Mr. "call me Bobby, dammit" Singer, Dean, as usual had placed himself between his little brother and anything that might frighten Sammy. He stood with his feet wide apart, his arms crossed over his chest and a stern expression on his face as he stared the older hunter down. Dean's gaze began at Bobby's feet and then rose up to the fuzzy ginger beard sizing the man up, just as Bobby was doing the same to Dean and Sam as he gazed down at the boys.

Bobby surmised at once that the elder Winchester seemed to give just as well as he got. Although Bobby couldn't easily get a read on Sam, and although he wasn't at all certain about the littlest Winchester just yet, Bobby took a liking to Dean almost instantly. Bobby knew that he would be double-damned before he'd ever admit it to anyone, but he could see in Dean a fearless nature and an innate desire to protect his little brother, whereupon Bobby thought to himself, _'Yeah, I can work with this.'_

The red-faced hunter was, by all appearances, gruff and sour with a quick, biting tongue and a jaded outlook on life. For the most part, he seemed thoroughly unimpressed by most things, as though he had seen and done it all, but he was, as their father had told Dean and Sammy on more than one occasion, "the best damned hunter I've ever worked with". Sammy may have been too young at the time to understand the gravity of those words coming from their father, but Dean realized at once that Bobby Singer had to be something mighty special to have earned John's respect.

Bobby's house as well as the surrounding property was a kid's paradise, especially if that kid was of an inquisitive nature like Dean or Sam. The inside of Bobby's house was decorated in a style of early American everything, with every nook and cranny packed with books, papers and every sort of reference material a hunter of monsters could ever need. There were several telephones on the wall in the kitchen as well, each labeled differently…"FBI", "Sheriff", "Police", and the like. The boys wondered why Bobby would have telephones labeled with the names of various law enforcement agencies, but they never dared to ask.

Sam, who had started school last year, was enchanted with the indoor space of Bobby's house. He loved to read and study and Bobby had books on nearly every subject imaginable, from cookbooks to Bibles in Latin and Greek to reference books on mythical creatures and urban legends. Sam pretty much had to be forced out of the house every day lest he succumb to the dust that covered everything indoors and forget what fresh air actually smelled like. Bobby could tell right away that Sammy yearned to learn about everything his father did, what his father hunted, and how he could be of use to the man. Bobby also had no trouble recognizing that Sammy felt he'd never measure up to John Winchester, and that recognition made Bobby angry.

Dean, on the other hand, hated being cooped up inside all day. His father had not insisted that his eldest son attend school, as the law demanded. Hell, they were never in any one place long enough for anyone to catch on if the boys weren't in school at all. And Dean did have to take care of Sammy all the years before the younger began school, so Dean never even had a chance for his own education, let alone a childhood. It was just one more thing that Dean was forced to sacrifice on the altar of _'family'_ for the greater good, John had told him, not that Dean ever minded in the least.

It was Pastor Jim, a minister and another hunter-friend of their father who had taught Dean to read. Dean and Sammy had stayed with the minister for just over a year while their father was hot on the trail of the yellow-eyed demon who had killed their mother. Sammy was two and toddling around getting into everything. Dean was seven at the time and hated being cooped up and forced to sit and study. Dean couldn't ever see himself using the useless knowledge that the minister was attempting to pour into his brain. And Dean's rebellious nature reared its head more than once.

Pastor Jim had finally broken down and told Dean that everyone needed to learn to read. He told Dean that the boy would never be able to help his father navigate by map or compass, nor would he understand how to give Sammy medicine correctly if he got sick, and giving Sam the incorrect dosage could be fatal. All of these could happen if Dean didn't learn to read. So, of course, when faced with valid arguments that seemed to Dean essential for the benefit of his family, the boy sanctioned study time. In between feeding and caring for Sam, Dean sat with Pastor Jim every day until he could read and write as well as if he had been in a classroom for years.

Dean also learned the basics of arithmetic and science, though again Dean was certain that he'd never use the knowledge he gained, until the validity of each subject was explained to him. Pastor Jim had told Dean that biology was important so that he'd be able to understand the physiology of the monsters they hunted. Chemistry, Pastor Jim explained, was important so that Dean would understand the various properties of combustion or chemical reaction that was always needed in the hunting business.

Dean soaked up the knowledge like a sponge, looking forward to the day when he could help Sammy with any homework that would be assigned to the younger. Dean also wanted to learn everything he could so that he might impress John when the elder Winchester deigned to remember his progeny and return to claim them. John, however, would always just grunt something unintelligible, or something that sounded vaguely like, _'book learning'_ and reach for another drink whenever Dean tried to tell him what he'd learned while John was away. The only knowledge that ever seemed to impress John Winchester had to do with guns, knives, and in general weapons of any kind.

Though Dean was grateful for everything that Pastor Jim had taught him, and the boys would see him many times over the years, it was Bobby who seemed to the boys their surrogate father. And it was the property that surrounded Bobby's home, to which Dean gravitated. The yard, if it could be deemed such, that surrounded Bobby's house was wind-swept, hard-packed dirt piled high with row upon row of wrecked and junked vehicles of every description which cleverly hid, as the boys would discover later in life, the countless bodies of anyone and anything that hunters all across the country needed to disappear. In it, Dean found a metallic playground full of mechanical wonders that kept him busy tinkering for hours on end. Sammy might have to be forced out of doors on a daily basis, but Dean, just the opposite of his brother, would have to be corralled and forced into the safety of four walls every night as the last rays of the sun succumbed to the ever-pressing shadows of darkness.

Bobby gave Dean a cursory lesson or two on repairing machinery and Dean took to the task the way Sammy took to reading reference books and doing research. Bobby allowed both boys pretty much free run of the place as long as they minded him and didn't get into too much mischief. They picked up knowledge from Bobby, here and there, which would definitely come in handy later on when John took to leaving the boys alone, rather than continuing to impose on his friends, not that any of them would have ever considered Dean and Sammy an imposition.

The self-described old hunter taught them both all that he could during the short stents they'd spent with him throughout their childhood, including rudimentary cooking and first aid. He also showed them which books in his vast collection contained everything the boys could need to know about Wendigoes, Werewolves, Vampires, Ghouls, Djinn, and the countless other mythical monsters that were, in fact, reality rather than myth.

Sammy became more and more comfortable around Bobby the more time the brothers spent in his care. Sammy, however, still looked to Dean for comfort and security, and Dean, Bobby noticed, was always there to reassure his little brother and calm the younger whenever the stresses of being a Winchester became too much for Sammy. It was mostly after nightfall when Sammy would surrender to the fears that kept him knotted up whenever Dean wasn't around.

The little boy with big doe eyes and soft, round cheeks would sit, his face pressed to the grimy window, watching and waiting for Dean to finish whatever task had him occupied out of doors that day. The longer Dean took, the more anxious little Sammy became, until when time utterly got away from Dean and he came in later than usual, he would find Sammy with his knees drawn up, bottom lip quivering, and fat, wet tears trailing down his face.

Bobby, who was doing his best to pull together something for the three of them to eat for dinner one night, was oblivious to Sammy's suffering. But when Dean finally came inside, it was straight to Sammy that Dean would go, wiping away Sammy's tears with the cleanest part of his grease-covered hands. He shushed his little brother and embraced Sammy with strong arms that seemed to set right all that was wrong in the younger boy's world. "I-I thought you might have left like daddy, Dean," Sammy snuffled as he pressed his face into Dean's neck, taking in the heat from Dean's body and the earthy, musky scent of the sweat that dampened Dean's t-shirt.

"Hush, little man," Dean soothed as he pulled Sammy closer before using the tail of his shirt to wipe Sammy's runny nose. "You know I'd never leave you," Dean assured Sam. "I'd get too lonely without you. Besides, who would read to me every night if I wasn't with you, Sammy?" Dean always knew just what to say to calm and comfort his little brother. Sammy always felt so special when Dean would ask him to read aloud. "Now let's go wash up and get to the kitchen quickly before Bobby decides to eat without us and we're left licking the plates."

Sammy grinned and nodded when Dean kissed his tiny upturned nose. The boys went to wash the day away before heading to the kitchen for a bowl of Bobby's homemade chili. Neither ever had to courage to ask what exactly the meat was in the pot, figuring it was best left to the imagination, but on 'chili night' there was always a freshly dug hole somewhere out in yard.

Later, after their tummies were full and the supper dishes were washed, dried and put away, Dean and Sam would wait for a phone call from their father. If John was going to ring them, it would be before their nine o'clock bedtime. But on this night, as on nearly every other night, there was no telephone call for the boys. Bobby assured them that _'no news was good news'_ and that their father would call as soon as he could. So Dean took hold of his brother's hand and they both climbed the stairs to shower and get changed for bed.

Dean and Sam each had their own bedrooms at Bobby's house located right across the hall from each other at the opposite end of the hall from Bobby's own bedroom. This house was one of the only places where they had ever experienced such a luxury as their own rooms. But although they each kept their meager belongings in the aforementioned separate rooms, predictably, they never slept apart. Sammy was convinced that he'd awaken in the morning to find that Dean had run off to join their father and had left him behind. Or, that Dean had been taken in the night by the monsters their dad hunted or space aliens. Either way, Sammy was certain that unless he slept next to Dean, his brother would disappear on him, never to be seen again.

Dean, however, was much more practical and realistic. He was sure that Sammy would have terrible nightmares of the kind that would leave his brother screaming himself into catatonia were he to be left to sleep alone. Bobby, though he didn't exactly understand the brothers' rationale, or their need to be together so much, gave them leave to sleep on the roof if they wanted to, just as long as they shut up, went to sleep and didn't wake him up before sunrise.

"G'night, Dean," Sammy whispered to his brother, Dean holding his breath for what he knew was coming next. "I love you," Sammy said, pressing his nose into Dean's neck, his scrawny arm going around Dean's waist before moving his hand up to rest over Dean's pounding heart.

"Yeah. Uh, 'night, Sammy," Dean whispered back placing his hand over Sam's, holding it to his chest and grimacing because of the cowardly response Dean knew he would make. "Me too," Dean said, a hitch of a sob in his voice. "Me too."


	4. 04 - Chapter 3

**SUMMARY FOR CHAPTER THREE: Dean (13), Sammy (8); The boys are left to fend for themselves now when their father hunts without them. Dean proves that he will do anything to keep Sammy fed and safe. Sammy proves that he only ever needs Dean to be happy.**

Dean and Sam were alone, truly alone. For the first time that Sam could recall, he and Dean were on their own. Dean, however, swore up and down that their father had left them by themselves lots of times before to go hunting, but Sam just looked at his brother with that 'you are so lying to me' look on his face and didn't believe a word of it.

The boys were once again hold up in a dodgy motel room. It was like every other motel that they had ever stayed in with their father. The room had cheesy, ugly décor and a tiny kitchen with a table and four chairs that looked as though they had been around to see World War II come and go. The bed linens were the same cheap, worn sheets and blankets as in every motel they'd ever stayed in. And Sam couldn't help but wonder absently if there was a warehouse somewhere where all the motels in the world went to order the most harsh, scratchy, uncomfortable sheets and pillowcases known to man.

But Sam never complained to Dean, it wasn't Dean's fault the way they had to live, and he certainly never complained to their father. Sam knew that their dad couldn't have cared less where his sons slept. But Dean, though the elder never said as much, Sam knew that Dean wanted better for them. Dean always tried his best to give Sam everything he possibly could when their dad was away. It was almost as if Dean was trying to make up to Sam for their parentless, nomadic lifestyle. So the older Sam got, the more he had to be conscious of what he said around Dean, taking care to be content with what they had and not 'wish out loud' for things he knew they could never get.

Whenever Sam truly needed something, or even when Sam really wanted something, Dean always came through for him. Sam, however, never asked Dean where he got the money they needed. He just assumed that it was left to them by their dad or earned by Dean somehow. Though John did usually leave them _some_ cash, it was never more than twenty dollars or so, not nearly enough for two growing boys to live on for days or weeks at a time.

Dean was fully aware, in the times that their father left them alone, that he had to save as much money as he could because. Most times John would give them some idea as to where he was going and how long he would be gone. This time, however, John had not been so forthcoming, nor had John left them with any of the stolen credit cards upon which they lived. John had only said that he was meeting up with some other hunters one state over to take out a nest of vampires. Dean had wanted to go with his father, but didn't let that fact be known. He would never leave his Sammy alone, unprotected, to fend for himself. Dean just purposed in his mind that he would just have to be a frugal as possible with their money until their dad returned.

Sam, however, had other thoughts. He had no idea how much money they had to live on but Sam wanted pizza for supper that first night alone. "C'mon, Dean," Sam pleaded, his eyes big and shining as he looked up at his big brother from the old chair next to the chipped dining table. "Pizza would be sooooooo good," Sammy groaned, rubbing his empty stomach. Sam's t-shirt rode up to give Dean a good long look at the soft, pale skin surrounding Sammy's little 'outie' belly-button. "Oh Dean, just think about all that melted cheese. Yummy! Please?" Sammy batted his too long eyelashes, his bottom lip poking out just a bit as he waited for Dean's response.

Of course Dean could never resist the little twerp. "Jesus I'm whipped," Dean mumbled as he turned away from his brother. Sam just gazed at him with a puzzled look on his face. Dean knew that Sam had no idea what 'whipped' meant and he fully aimed to keep it that way as long as possible. "Ok, Sammy," Dean sighed as he gave in. "We'll have pizza tonight. Just don't eat it all cause we'll need breakfast in the morning." Sammy grinned and jumped up to hug his brother tightly. Dean squeezed Sammy back just as tightly, breathing in the scent that was, for Dean, distinctly Sam and home, before he pushed Sammy back, putting some space between them. "I mean it," Dean said. "Don't eat it all tonight." Sammy nodded his head and crossed his heart with one hand in a promise to save some for their breakfast.

A little while later, after Dean had placed the call for take away pizza, the piping hot, cheesy goodness arrived. Sammy was beside himself over the treat, bouncing up and down on his chair and clapping as Dean paid the delivery guy. Dean stuck the change in the pocket of his jeans and brought the box to the table. The brothers had nothing but tap water in their glasses to drink, but with the hot pizza it might as well have been champagne. They were eating good tonight.

There were no plates on the table. Each boy just grabbed a slice straight from the box. Sam's eyes rolled back in his head with the first greasy, gooey bite. The hot cheese burned the roof of his mouth but he didn't care one bit. That pizza was the best thing he had tasted in such a long time. Sam finished his slice off in record time, noticing that Dean, however, had barely picked at his own slice. Sam reached for another, woofing it down as well, and had finished that one too long before Dean had finished his first slice. "Don't 'cha like it, Dean?" Sam asked, grease dribbling down his chin as he talked.

"Mmm, sure, Sammy," Dean said, looking at the rapidly dwindling box in the middle of the table. "I'm just not that hungry I guess. You go on and take my other slice," he said, retrieving a napkin that had come along with the pizza to wipe the grease from his little brother's chin.

"You sure, Dean?" Sam asked in astonishment when Dean finished wiping his chin. He blushed a bit because he should have realized he needed to wipe his own chin. Dean shouldn't have had to do it for him. He was getting too old for his big brother to have to do little things like that, take care of him like that. But as he looked back and forth between Dean and the pizza, Sam couldn't believe that Dean was passing up his part of the cheesy goodness.

"Yeah," Dean sighed when his stomach gave a bit of a hungry rumble. "You're too skinny as it is, kid. Go ahead. Eat up. I'm gonna grab a shower before bed," Dean said, leaving Sam at the table to finish up.

Sam snatched Dean's other slice and ate it with as much gusto as he had his own two pieces. He was sorely tempted to grab a fourth slice but he remembered the promise he'd made to Dean to save some for breakfast. So when he finished Dean's slice, Sam closed the lid of the pizza box and sat it on the counter looking forward to cold pizza for breakfast.

In the bathroom, Dean waited for the shower water to get hot as he slipped off his jeans and t-shirt. His underwear was the last thing to go before he climbed under the sad excuse for a shower sprayer. The water was lukewarm at best, but it was better than nothing. Dean was so hungry that he wondered if he'd be able to get to sleep at all that night. He stood under the shower and drank as much of the warm water as his undernourished belly could hold. At least there would be something in his hollow tummy now and maybe, just maybe, he would be able to get some sleep without hunger pains tonight.

Dean didn't have to give up his food to Sammy very often. He had known that they really couldn't afford to get the pizza that Sammy had wanted tonight. But he would give up anything, anytime, for his brother. Though Dean would never admit it, Sammy's smile, or his pleading eyes, melted Dean's heart every time, and Dean would do anything, give up anything, to make his little brother happy.

When Dean finally emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his narrow hips, Sammy was sneaking into Dean's sack of clothes to grab an old t-shirt of Dean's. "Busted!" Dean said with a laugh, grabbing his little brother while the t-shirt was still over Sam's head. "That's my shirt an' you darn-well know it, kid," Dean scolded. "Now gimme!"

"No, Dean, please…" Sam whined. "I like to sleep in it. It's soft and…and…it smells like you." Sammy said so quietly that Dean was sure he had heard his brother wrong. But Sammy blushed to the roots of his hair. He couldn't believe he'd actually admitted that deep, dark secret to Dean. And the look on Dean's face was absolute shock. "I'm sorry, Dean," Sam said. He was mortified, first of all for having been caught taking Dean's shirt without asking Dean's permission, and then for admitting such a secret to Dean. So Sammy's eyes began to moisten with unshed tears as he started trying to take the shirt off as fast as he could.

"No," Dean said. It was only one word but it spoke an entire volume to Sam. Dean pulled his t-shirt down over Sammy's head and smoothed it down over his brother's gangly arms. The shirt was too big for Sammy of course, hanging all the way to the tops of Sammy's thighs. But neither brother seemed to notice or care.

Though Dean had precious few clothes of his own, the thought that Sam wanted to wear something of his to obviously feel closer to his big brother, just flat put Dean's head in a spin. That Sam wanted to wear the shirt, one of Dean's favorites that he wore often, because it smelled like him, made Dean's chest feel tight. "'S ok, Sammy," Dean said quietly, ruffling the younger's soft, wavy hair before lifting Sammy's chin, forcing the younger's eyes to meet his own. "You can wear it anytime you want to."

Then, out of the blue, Dean felt little arms go around his waist and the scent of Sam permeate his nose. Sam was hugging Dean so tightly, the elder thought that he might just have bruises in the morning and that was just fine with him. Dean's arms curled around Sam to gently squeeze him back. "Go brush your teeth and then come to bed," Dean said, glad that Sam obeyed and went to the bathroom before Dean's stomach rumbled again. It wouldn't do for Sam to know that Dean was going to bed hungry. He never wanted Sam to worry about anything, least of all him.

Sleep didn't come easy for Dean that night. Sammy had fallen asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, snuggled up to Dean for warmth in the cold bed. Outside it was getting colder and the heater in their room was sort of hit or miss and it seemed to be missing tonight. Dean knew that all they had left of dad's twenty bucks was about five dollars and some change. That wouldn't last them at all, especially if dad was gone past tomorrow, which Dean was quite sure he would be. Their father was never gone less than three or four days.

Dean was wracking his brain for a way to get some more money and fast. He couldn't get a job, he just wasn't old enough and he didn't even have a fake ID. He knew there were people out there who would pay him for things that he didn't even want to think about, much less do, but he also knew that he wouldn't allow Sammy to be hungry or cold either if there was anything he could do to prevent it. He would just have to see if he could hustle up anyone who would pay him for some of those things he would try to forget about later.

So Dean climbed gingerly out of bed, careful not to wake Sammy. He dragged on jeans, a t-shirt and hooded sweatshirt, then an old jacket of his dad's, before donning his socks and shoes. He crept over to the door and slipped out quietly, being careful to step over the unbroken salt line in front of the door. It was a little before midnight and the night air was cold, crisp and clean. Dean shivered a little, then pulled the hood of the sweatshirt up over his head and tugged the old jacket closer around him.

He made his way out of the motel parking lot, down the street to a bar. There were plenty of cars in the parking lot and plenty of people coming and going. Dean backed up to the front of the building by the corner and stood with one leg propped up on the building. His hands were in the pockets of his jeans and his pelvis was a bit thrust out, as if on display. It was the quintessential stance of one who wanted to be solicited for the evening.

Fortunately, Dean didn't have to wait long in the cold night air. An older man, probably in his late thirties or early forties, sidled casually up to Dean checking the boy out. "Hey boy," the man said putting his hands on the building by each side of Dean's face. Dean could smell the whiskey on the man's breath as he spoke again. "You lookin' for someone to make yer night, boy?" Dean just grinned up at the loser and took one hand out of his pocket, placing it on the man's groin, rubbing and taking note of the half-hard bulge beneath.

"You got the money, daddy," Dean said with a little rub of his hand. "And I'll be all kinds of good to you." The boy batted his long eyelashes and turned his bright green eyes and cute freckled nose up to the man who couldn't seem to ask Dean 'how much' fast enough. "Twenty for my hands," Dean said, giving the man's still-clothed cock a small squeeze. Dean's voice was husky with just a tinge of fear. "Or fifty for the best mouth you'll ever have."

Dean's tongue slipped out from between his full lips before he smiled at the man. He was hating himself on the inside because of what he had to do that night. He couldn't bring himself to hate his father for forcing him into this situation and he certainly wouldn't hate Sammy. No, the blame for the happenings of this night fell solidly upon Dean's own shoulders and he hated himself all the more.

"What if I want more than hands or mouth, boy?" The man asked, trying to kiss Dean's throat. "How much for this sweet ass of yours?" He asked as he grabbed and groped Dean's round little butt cheeks.

Dean froze. There was no way he was going there. Not at thirteen goddamn years old he wasn't. No way! "Sorry, man," Dean said, shaking his head. "That's not for sale at any price. Shake or swallow, that's all I'm offering."

Surprisingly, though the man seemed disappointed, he agreed to Dean's terms for a blow job and even paid in advance. The man moved them around the corner into the darkened alleyway alongside the bar. Dean unzipped the man's jeans and pulled out a smallish, although already hard, dick. Dean gave the little thing a tug or two as an enticement before going to his knees and taking the man into his mouth. Dean didn't let his mind dwell on what he was doing. It was all for Sammy. His Sammy couldn't go hungry. His Sammy had to be warm, fed and happy. His Sammy was worth it all.

When it was over, Dean didn't swallow. He ran away and spat into the first bush he came to. As Dean made it back to the motel and climbed back into bed with Sammy, he tried not to think about what he'd just done. Somehow Dean knew that although this was the first time he'd ever done anything like this, for money or otherwise, it wouldn't be the last time that he was forced to sell himself. John was sure to leave them alone more and more and likely without funds again. But Dean knew that he would always do whatever it took to take care of Sammy, no matter what. He just prayed that Sammy never found out.


	5. 05 - Chapter 4

**SUMMARY FOR CHAPTER FOUR: Dean (15), Sammy (10); John is sick of Dean treating Sammy like a baby. Dean finds it hard to defy his father in anything, except where his Sammy's safety is concerned. Sammy just wishes that he and Dean could stay together forever.**

It was not the first time that Dean had been summoned by his father, John Winchester, to help with the _family business_. He had plenty of experience, over the course of his fifteen years, of playing back-up for his father. He had handled things like digging up graves to salt and burn the bones of a haunting spirit, or staking vampires in their daytime nests. But always before, Dean had been back with Sammy before it was time for the younger Winchester to go to sleep. Never had Sammy been left alone overnight, though the now ten year old boy swore it was long-past time that he was old enough to be left alone.

John, it seemed, now agreed with Sammy, much to the little boy's delight, and much to Dean's chagrin. Dean was to travel with John one state over, a mere three hundred or so miles, to exorcise a demon who had possessed the young son of a long-time friend of John. "Can't we all go, dad?" Dean asked for the thousandths time that morning. "I-I mean, wouldn't it be better for us all to be together?" Dean's face was ashen as he asked the questions to which he already knew the answer.

"Goddammit, Dean," John growled, tossing a half empty beer bottle in the vicinity of Dean's head as he packed his rucksack for the trip. If Dean hadn't been quick enough to catch it, he'd either be unconscious or on the wrong side of a big can of whoop-ass that John would have likely unleashed on him. "So help me if you ask me that one more time I'll…." John let the threat hang in the air heavier than the belt he frequently wielded on the backs of his sons when they dared to disobey him, or just generally piss him off, which was more often than they truly deserved. But John was in charge, after all, the only parent they had left.

Dean tried his level best not to flinch when John stared him down. He wanted to resist, to tighten his fingers into fists and tell his father that he wasn't leaving Sammy alone for an entire week, no way, no how. But Dean did as he always had and just dropped his eyes in submission with a half-hearted 'yessir, sorry' in reply. The last thing he needed to worry about was angering his father when he had to be alone with the man for the next week or more. He knew that their father had paid for their crummy motel room for two weeks in advance. Just as he knew that they would never get their money back if they all up and left before said two weeks were up. There would be no talking their dad into losing even the small pittance of funds he'd paid for the room. So there was nothing for it but for Dean to finish packing before John started reaching for his belt.

Dean grabbed Sammy and pulled him into the bathroom and shut the door. "Look," Sammy said, before Dean could even start with his 'this is for real…don't take any chances' speech. "I'm gonna be alright, Dean," Sammy said, confidence brimming with every word. Sam made the round of the bathroom, collecting Dean's toothbrush, some soap, the first aid kit, and anything else he thought his brother would need before they came back. Everything he collected, Sam tossed into an obliging plastic grocery sack, knowing that Dean would have just thrown everything into his duffle and would never have taken the time to fish it all out every day when he showered.

When Sammy turned around, grocery sack in the hand he held out to Dean, his big brother took it from his grasp, dropped it to the floor, and, before he could take a deep breath, Sammy found himself held tightly to Dean's chest. "You gotta promise me, Sammy," Dean said, not bothering to hide the pleading tone of his voice or the trembles that wracked his small body. "You gotta promise me to stay safe, Sammy," Dean begged. "I won't be here this time to take care of you."

"Oh Dean," Sammy sighed with some exasperation, even as his hands clutched Dean's faded t-shirt. "You know I can take care of myself."

"I know. I know, Sammy…'course you can," Dean agreed, not wanting to scare Sammy, even though he didn't believe a word of it. There was no way he wasn't going to worry himself into anemia over having to walk out the door of that motel room and leave his little brother all alone and unprotected. "Jesus, how does dad do this all the damn time?"

Dean didn't realize he'd even voiced the question aloud until Sammy hugged him tighter and sniffled a reply, "Because he don't love me like you do, Dean."

 _'_ _Oh Jesus…oh God…he knows…even though I've never been able to tell him…how the hell can I leave him?'_ was the running diatribe in Dean's mind as he willed his arms to loosen and let go of the most precious thing in his world. Sammy took one slow step backwards, so loathe to leave the warmth and safety of his brother's arms. Dean was already all hard, muscular planes, where Sammy was still wiry with some baby softness to his body.

Sammy had never really had to do any fighting, whereas Dean was never able to stay away from it. If it wasn't helping their father fight monsters, it was street fighting to protect Sammy or bar brawls when hustling pool went horribly wrong. Dean was fearless…until today. Though he was trying so hard to keep Sammy from seeing it, Dean was terrified to leave Sammy alone and unprotected.

It was this day, this plain, unremarkable, drizzly Monday morning that would mean more to Sammy throughout his life than any other day he had known or would ever know. This was the day when Sammy truly knew that Dean loved him. Oh sure, Sammy had always known that Dean took care of him, did all the things he was told to do. But that was just it. Sammy thought that Dean did all of those things because he was _told_ to do them. Sammy thought that Dean took care of him because he was _told_ to take care of him.

But as Sammy realized that Dean had always been there for him, had always taken care of him and provided for him because Dean loved him, Sammy's heart lodged itself firmly in his throat and he couldn't speak…couldn't breathe. Dean bent to pick up the sack of toiletries that Sammy had gathered for him, taking a cursory look inside before pulling out their shared tube of toothpaste. "Don't think you're gettin' out of brushin' your teeth 'til I get back, Sammy," Dean huffed as he removed the toothpaste from the bag and placed it next to Sammy's toothbrush. "Every morning and every night. You know the rules."

Suddenly a small set of arms grabbed Dean around his waist from behind. "I'm sorry, Dean. I promise. I'll do everything just like you taught me." The tears were flowing freely from Sammy now and wetting the back of Dean's shirt. _'Just don't leave me, Dean. Don't go. What if you don't come back?'_ were the words that Sammy just couldn't say. He had shamed himself enough by crying. He wouldn't make this any harder for his brother than it already was.

"Hey, hey now, Sammy," Dean said, turning around in Sammy's arms. ' _God he's so little'_ Dean thought to himself. "I'll be back before you know it," Dean promised. "You'll have the whole bed to yourself for once. And you can stay up as late as you want," Dean grinned, trying so hard to cheer Sammy up. But nothing was working. He had to see Sammy smile at him, just once. He would never be able to walk out of that bathroom and get into the Impala, the beautiful black vintage car that was home to them more than any motel room or rental house would ever be, if Sammy was crying.

So Dean did something that Sammy couldn't remember him ever doing before. Dean bent down and oh-so-gently kissed Sammy's tear-stained eyes. "Shhhh," Dean said softly between kisses. "You're gonna be fine, little man," Dean told him, the odd little nickname never failing to bring a smile to Sammy's face, just as it did now. "I'll be back before you know it. And I'll try to call you as often as I can," Dean promised. "You call Bobby if you have an emergency and he'll round up someone to come get you."

Sammy knew that they were a long way from Bobby's house, but Bobby's reach was pretty much nationwide. He had hunter friends in every state it seemed. So Sammy knew he could count on Bobby if he needed something. Sammy never once wondered who Dean could rely on. Dean was tough, smart, capable, everything that Sammy knew he was not. Dean could take care of himself. "Love you, Dee," Sammy whispered, just as Dean was about to release him from the tender hug. "Love you so, so much," he whispered again.

"DEAN!" their father's voice, like fingernails on a chalkboard cut into their private reverie. "If I have to come in there boy…." John threatened.

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean said quickly before releasing the younger. "Me too, little man. Me too."

And Dean was gone, out of the bathroom and out of the motel room before Sammy could force himself to move from where Dean had last been. Sammy knew that Dean had already re-salted the door and windows to the room so he didn't even waste a thought on that. Dean had already bought Sammy enough food to last a week if he was careful, but even with his tummy rumbling now, Sammy couldn't bear to leave the bathroom so soon after Dean had left him.

Some hours later, when Sammy was so tired that he couldn't stay standing in the bathroom any longer, he curled up on his and Dean's shared bed. His own side felt so empty and lonely now, so he rolled over to Dean's side, hugged the pillow that still smelled like Dean, and finally, Sammy slept fitfully, tossing and turning all night.

When he woke just before dawn, Sammy couldn't lay in the cold, empty bed any longer. So he got up, still dressed from the night before, and wandered aimlessly into the tiny kitchen to make some cereal. This being on his own wasn't all it was cracked up to be. He missed Dean so much, even this soon. Sammy pulled out the milk Dean had bought him and there was a note tied to the handle. Sammy sat the milk down and pulled the note away, unrolling it. It was from Dean. It had to be. Who else cared enough about him to leave a note?

 ** _"_** ** _Sammy, this first time alone might be hard for you. Leaving you alone is the hardest thing I've ever had to do. But I left you something to hopefully make it easier. It's under my side of the mattress. Remember your promise to me to take care of yourself and I'll remember mine to you to come back soon. There's plenty of food and don't forget to call Bobby if you need anything."_**

Sammy ran to Dean side of the bed, breakfast already forgotten, and shoved his hand under the mattress. He pulled out another plastic grocery bag that Dean had obviously put there. Inside was the t-shirt Dean had last slept in, still full of the earthy, spiciness that was Dean and a small wad of cash, Dean's secret stash. Sammy yanked off his own t-shirt and pulled Dean's on as quickly as possible. He put away the precious few dollars that Dean had left him, swearing to not spend a single dollar of it. Then he pulled out Dean's note once again and re-read it all the way to the end. He had neglected to read the last sentence the first time, wanting to see what Dean had left him too badly. What he read now was infinitely more precious to Sammy than the old t-shirt he adored or even the money.

 ** _"_** ** _I know I don't say it, little man, and I know you want to hear it, so here goes…I love you, Sammy…love you so damn much…you gotta know I do!"_**

Tears filled Sammy's eyes before falling onto the scrap of paper that was Dean's note. "Me too, Dee," Sammy whispered as he clutched the note tightly to his chest. "Me too." Such a reversal of roles would not be apparent to Sammy for many years to come. All Sammy knew was that he loved Dean, more than ever, and Dean loved him back.

No matter what the future held for them, whether together or alone, both Winchester boys knew that they had each other. And in end, what else would they ever need?

 ** _END_**


End file.
